


pillow talk

by brendonurie



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2823485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brendonurie/pseuds/brendonurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun disappeared hours ago, neither boy knows exactly how many. The moon peeks in at them through the shitty blinds in Brendon’s shitty apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pillow talk

“Where do you think you’d be without me?”

Scoff. “What a stupid question.”

“What? I’m curious.”

“Where do you think _you’d_ be without _me_?”

“I don’t know. Lost. In a ditch somewhere, probably.”

“Exactly.”

Eyelashes flutter.

“Cop out.”

“Truth.”

Ryan rolls over to face the door. “Why would you ask that, anyway? We’ll never be apart.”

Scoff. From Brendon, this time. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. You think I’m gonna let you end up lost, dead in a ditch?”

Brendon props himself up on his elbow.

“Yeah, but… I mean, you’d… Fine.” He leans forward, letting his chin fall on Ryan’s bare shoulder, his chest to Ryan’s back. His skin is warm, but there are goosebumps all over him.

 

The sun disappeared hours ago, neither boy knows exactly how many. The moon peeks in at them through the shitty blinds in Brendon’s shitty apartment.

 

Brendon tilts his head forward, letting his lips reciprocate the warmth.

A shuddery sigh.

Brendon reaches over, lets his hand find the perfect crook between Ryan’s jaw and collarbone. His thumb runs along the sharp bone of his jaw.

Ryan rolls back over.

 

If they looked, they’d see a perfectly full moon, glaring its stolen light down at them, chastising them for staying up so late. But they cannot take their eyes off each other.

 

Their hands trace each other over and over, back and forth. Though they know each other better than they know themselves, they hunt and prey on undiscovered scraps of skin, pale and soft, unmarked and sweet.

When they don’t find any, can’t find any, there’s none left to find, they clamber forward and their lips meet, crash like waves on a beach they find themselves on, somewhere before their past and after their future, somewhere they’ve never been, somewhere they will never go.

Their tongues tangle, tangy and slick, tangle like tendrils of ivy, reaching around and under and over until it’s been consumed, it’s all been consumed. Swallowed up because it never had a chance, there was never anyone to tame it. Never anyone to show it how, where, when.

Their teeth clack together, they’re getting too excited, they clink and it’s like champagne glasses on New Year’s, it’s like thunder on a Colorado mountain top where there’s nowhere to run.

Brendon climbs on top.

He reaches over, off the edge of the bed and grabs the bottle, nearly empty. They were embarrassed when they bought it, vowed to use this one until they _had_ to buy the next one.

He slicks up the lanky, writhing boy beneath him, who whimpers, “Bren, Bren, please baby, please,” and does little else.

He uses a little on himself, though he really doesn’t need to, he’s still wet, still stretched from earlier. Earlier this evening, this very same night, because they can’t keep their hands off of each other.

Brendon, the romantic, the one who loves to make his boy blush, leans in to whisper, “I have never seen anything more beautiful,” and he’s not lying, could never lie to his boy.

He poises himself up on his knees, then slowly sinks down, fills himself up with Ryan. He loves it, he loves to ride his boy, he can’t get enough. His body, soft and smooth, looks like the ocean the way it moves - rolls and waves and curves and swirls. Ryan cries out, already close, his ship sinking in the sea of Brendon and Brendon’s Body, lost his compass months ago, there’s no hope for him now.

Brendon stills, cups Ryan’s face. Ryan’s chest is heaving, his hands grip Brendon’s hips.

A tiny, mischievous smile falls on Brendon’s face and suddenly he’s reaching back, body moving and tightening in ways that evoke sinful noises from Ryan’s lips.

Brendon’s reaching back and he soon returns with the sheet from his unmade bed, the one that covers them when they tell all their secrets, when they exchange their chaste kisses. He drapes it over them, the light of the moon illuminating it and turning their skin pale blue, blue, blue to match the depths of their sea.

Ryan smiles wide; his boy is so sweet, so charming. So cute. He becomes hyper-aware of everything: the salty air of their bodies, the sweat pooling on his upper lip, the roiling heat in his gut. He squeezes Brendon’s hips but then one hand leaves, has more important matters to tend to. Brendon’s erection throbs under his fingertips and he works it, slowly, languidly. Brendon conveys his gratitude with a low, growling sigh from deep in his chest.

Brendon leans forward again, trapping himself and Ryan’s hand between them, for a kiss. A long, full kiss. The sheet flutters down from where his head had been holding it and it cools the air around them, just a little, it comes down to meet Brendon’s back and slides down, back on to the bed as he sits upright.

Slowly, slowly, Brendon sets back into motion, the two finding a rhythm, all their own, one they could never lose. Ryan reads his boy’s face, sees he’s peaking, and quirks his hips the way he knows his boy likes it. It’s a new thing, for the both of them, being in tune with a body so similar to their own.

Brendon’s whole body tightens out of pleasure, unconsciously returning the favor, and Ryan’s eyes screw shut, as bad as he wants to watch, his eyes clamp shut and he can’t open them again.

Ryan hears a sharp, electric cry above him somewhere, and heat spills over onto his hand, then he’s gone, his ship is wrecked and he is gone, he might make a sound but even he can’t hear it.

 

Everything comes back, slowly, but surely. The light from the moon. The sound of their breathing. The soft sheets beneath him. The warmth of the boy beside him. Ryan looks at his boy and his heart hurts, he can’t think of anything but how beautiful he looks, tiny pearls of sweat on his forehead and everywhere else, eyelashes casting feathery shadows on his cheeks. He can’t think of anything but how lost he’d be without him.

 

 

 

 

The hotel’s sheets smell like starch and like unfamiliarity and like strangers.

Brendon sits up and looks at the mess he’s made on Ryan’s stomach, another to add to the countless they've made in beds and homes and hearts that don’t belong to them.

Sniffle.

“What am I supposed to do without you, Ryan?”

“How should I know?”

Ryan rolls over to face the door.

The tiny, padded sound of a tear hitting fabric.

“You’re the one that wants me to leave.”

Ryan gets up.

“What are you supposed to do without me?” Scoff. “What a stupid question.”


End file.
